Brothers in Arms
by JaraelMoonsilver
Summary: Flashback to when Faramir and Boromir are younger. Oneshot.


"A new sword! Th- thank you, father!" Boromir bowed before Denethor, the Steward of Gondor. He turned to his brother, "Come, Faramir. Let us go see how well this works!"

The younger son glanced over his shoulder. His father gave him an icy glare that meant, _You had better not do anything foolish._

* * *

Boromir led the way. They walked out into the courtyard, then towards a small forest inside the walls. They traveled a little ways further into the trees; then, reaching a clearing, Boromir signaled his brother to stop. "Here, catch!" He tossed his old sword towards Faramir.

"Wha- Oh!" The younger boy fumbled for the hilt, but it fell to the ground.

Boromir grinned, waving his sword at his brother, "Come on, pick it up! I want to see how good I am."

Faramir slowly bent down, then gingerly picked up the sword, "You should be more careful. This is a weapon. It could hurt someone."

"Oh, come on. Since when do you care about that? Take a swing at me."

The young man hesitated, "I- I don't know if I should..."

Boromir rolled his eyes, "Are you planning to grow up a weasel?"

Faramir stood up straighter, "I'm no weasel."

"Then, come at me!"

Faramir took a step forward, then halfheartedly swung the blade at his brother; who easily parried it aside.

"Come on! You're not even trying!" He grinned, "Pretend I'm a giant troll king. I will take over all of Gondor if you do not defeat me!"

Faramir smiled, slightly, "Alright, then." He thrust the sword forwards, then followed with two upward, diagonal slices. Boromir jumped backwards, parrying. The sword blows went back and forth, until Boromir turned and ran. Faramir grinned, "Oh no, you don't."

He ran off after him, but his brother had disappeared into the trees. "Boromir?" He called out, "Are you there?"

A strange sound came from behind him; a sound that was that of a orc, readying for an attack. Faramir spun around, just something came crashing through the bushes. He swung out with his sword, and was greeted by an, "Ow!"

The sword clattered to the ground, "Boromir?"

His brother nodded, clutching at his side, "Who do you think it is?" He laughed, "I fooled you, didn't I? Ah!"

"A- are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine," He grimaced, looking down at the bloodstain on his left side that was spreading, "Well, mostly."

"Boromir! Oh, I am sorry! I-"

"It's fine. Really."

"We- we should probably head back…"

Boromir shook his head, "No. I'll be fine. It's just a scratch."

"Please? I really think you need to get that patched up."

Finally, the older brother sighed. "Fine. If it will make you feel better."

Faramir almost laughed. _Ha! More like bring my imminent death closer than I would like. Why am I so stupid?_

* * *

As they walked back through the door, Denethor jumped up from his seat. "Boromir! My son, what has happened?"

Faramir waited for his brother to rat him out.

"Oh, this? A consequence of my own foolishness, I'm afraid. I was chasing Faramir while carrying my new sword. I tripped, and fell on my sword. Luckily, I wasn't holding it completely up. Otherwise, I wouldn't have made it back."

Faramir stared at him, silently asking why he had lied.

The Steward of Gondor considered them both. "Then why does your old sword have blood on it?"

"Uh…"

"Were you using both swords?"

"Um… Well…" Boromir gave Faramir a desperate look.

"Father," Faramir stepped forward, trying to swallow his fear, "I used that sword. It was I that injured Boromir."

Their father's face clouded with conflicted emotions. "Faramir, go to your chambers. Boromir… I wish to speak with you."

* * *

Faramir perched on the edge of his bed, terrified. _I'm dead. I wonder what he's going to do this time? Burn down the room? Not unlikely. Throw me out the window? Possibly. Take Boromir's old sword and run me through? That's probably it. The punishment fits the crime._ His imagination could run wild, if allowed. And sitting in his room, waiting for a very angry father to come in and deal a severe punishment to him didn't hinder that. Sometimes, imagining gruesome deaths helped calm him down. It didn't make any sense, but it did. This time, though, it didn't work. It just made his even more nervous.

The door banged open, and his father stormed in.

"Father, I'm sorry. I- I didn't mean to-"

"Silence! Do you realize what you did? What you could have done? You could have killed him!" He pulled a long, wicked-looking dagger from his sleeve.

_I was close._ Faramir thought, trying not to focus on it. "I'm sorry."

"You'll be sorry when I'm done with you!" He lashed out with the dagger. Faramir ducked, holding his right arm up in front of his face. The knife sliced right through the air. Denethor swiped at him again. This time, the blade cut through flesh.

"Ah!" Faramir winced, trying to avoid another attack. The knife came down again, and again.

"You could have killed him! You could have killed my son!"

"In case you've forgotten, _he_ is your son as well." Boromir limped through the doorway.

"What are you doing in here? You are supposed to be getting that wound taken care of!"

"I came to make sure you didn't do anything rash. I can't believe you. To borrow the phrase, you could have killed my brother. Now," He said, stepping farther into the room, "You are going to drop the dagger, and then you are going to get out of this room."

Denethor narrowed his eyes, "I am your father. You can't tell me what to do."

"I just did." His father glared at him. "Now, go!"

He threw the dagger to the ground, sneered at Faramir, who was still lying on the ground where he had fallen, and stalked out the door.

Boromir ran over and knelt beside his brother, "Faramir! Are you alright?" He lifted his brother's head, which was covered in blood. "What happened?"

Faramir's eyes fluttered open. "Ow."

The elder brother groped around the room until he found a clean bed sheet. He tore off a strip of it, then wrapped it around his brother's arm. After he did that, he took another piece and dabbed at Faramir's face, trying to clean up the blood. There was a large gash above his left eye, as well as the long cuts on his arm. "What did he do?"

Faramir tried to sit up. "I-" He fell back, unconscious.

* * *

When Faramir woke up, he was in bed. There was a clean bandage on his arm. He struggled to sit up. "Boromir?" The room was empty.

He slowly got out of bed, then walked out. He thought he heard something; something outside of the castle. He hurried to a nearby balcony, and looked out. There was a procession leading through the courtyard. Faramir thought he could hear the voices in the crowd.

"I can't believe it…"

"…because he didn't get his wound taken care of."

"I heard…"

"It must be terrible for his father."

"…brother…"

He leaned out further to get a better look. It was a funeral procession. _But, who-_ He squinted at the small figure. _No._

He yelled to the sky. "No!"

_Boromir._

_It's my fault. He was too busy taking care of me. He didn't even once think about himself._

He heard footsteps behind him. "So, you're awake."

A shove, and Faramir was falling off the balcony. Down, down, _down_.

* * *

_Boromir._

Faramir sat up, calling for his brother. "Boromir!"

"_Shh_. It's okay. What do you need?"

There he was, sitting beside his bed. "You- you're alright!" he stammered.

Boromir laughed. "Of course I'm alright. Why do you ask?"

Faramir lay back down. "Nothing." Then he remembered. "You are going to march right out of here and get that wound taken care of."

"Alright, alright." He laughed again. "Yes, sir!"

* * *

The news was shocking. Devastating. Impossible. He kept trying to believe it wasn't real. He was going to wake up and his brother would be right there; just as he had been 10 years ago.

_But you're no longer a 12-year-old boy. And it's true. It's real._

Boromir, his brother, his companion, his friend, was dead.

And Faramir couldn't wake up.


End file.
